Personal Stylist
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: HUMOUR NOT ROMANCE FOR A REASON! Amelie decides that Oliver needs a new wardrobe as he is a 'stereotypical vampire' so what does that entail? NO spoilers for ANYTHING whatsoever! R&R plz :P


_So, sitting for 70 mins of a 90 min exam with nothing to do is a bad thing? WRONG! Firstly, I would like to clarify that the exam was PREPARATION FOR WORKING LIFE, ie if you __**turn up**__, you've already gotten to Level 1!_

_So why am I telling you this?_

_Well… it gave me my wondrous ONESHOT idea! Exams give me the best of ideas, so I hope you enjoy this one about dress sense! It sorta worked it's way __**into**__ my head from the sample chapter of Last Breath I read, but there is __**no**__ spoilers for that __**whatsoever**__…_

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"You need," she pauses for dramatic effect, though it sort of isn't necessary since I have a _theory_ as to what she is going to say. "A makeover," she finishes: yes, exactly as I thought. Amelie is _so_ predictable!

"I can most _definitely_ assure you that I have no requisite _whatsoever_ for a makeover," I sigh as I lean back in my chair in my office in Common Grounds.

She rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers at me to stand up, which I do so begrudgingly. I have always hated having to do as she wants, but she is the ruler here and I the second, so I still have a superior. If only we could set up a board who was higher than her… but who would _dare_ to go against the oldest and most powerful vampire in the world?

As she surveys my appearance, her expression turns from seeming entirely blank, as if she were a spastic, into a mixture of amusement and horror. "Dear Lord, you are worse than I thought possible," she murmurs, almost to herself. "Could you be a worse dresser than _Myrnin_?" she asks me: WHAT? What is _wrong_ with the way I dress? It is assuredly _not_ as bad as that dog, who looks as if he is a cross between a pauper from Henry VIII's time on the throne and the royal son of her Majesty the Queen last century… I can assure you now that that is _not_ a style that could be deemed second worst.

"I dress magnificently for a vampire pretending to be a human," I remind her of the purpose of my disguise but she shakes her head, now apparently trying to hold back a laugh.

"Whilst your human attire has a lot to be desired for, the most imminent issue I wish to address is what you wear when you are _off_ duty in this shop," she smiles as her eyes flick over my outfit for another confirmation. "Dear Lord, it _is_ worse than Myrnin!" she laughs, actually showing more emotion than a shell which surprises me. Especially since Sam died, she has been more of a hermit than usual: in those six months on the run, she almost seemed, dare I say it, _normal_?

"What's wrong with this?" I ask, gesturing to the clothing I am wearing.

"The shirt is _striped_, Oliver, which does nothing for your complexion whatsoever," she expects me to know what she is talking about when, in fact, I thought I rather suited the shirt. "And you _have_ to be kidding me… what are you wearing as _trousers_? Old sacks roughly cut into trouser shapes?" she snorts as I look defensive, amazed that she could insult trousers which are as wondrous as these.

"No," I respond, affronted. "They are cords from 1890 and I wear them because they are, well, rather comfortable. I mean, it isn't as if I'm off to go and fight someone on my day off, but black rather suits me, I thought," I continue, deciding that perhaps reasoning with Amelie will make her bored so she will give him and let me have what I want… that is a theory I have been waiting to be confirmed for six hundred years.

She rolls her eyes and snorts again, settling down in her chair and sitting demurely.

"You are _such_ a stereotypical vampire," she informs me straight off. "Black is _not_ a colour that suits you well, Oliver, and the fact that you are aged slightly, physically at least, does not assist much. It seems as if you are, how do they say it nowadays, trying to fit in with them when you are much too old to do so… besides for the trousers!" she peals off into laughter, leaving me standing in front of her, hurt that she has insulted my dress sense.

"Well… well… you wear hideous suits and dresses _all_ the time," I fight back, not mentioning how they probably suit her… well… I would say that if I were female or gay, something I am neither of which so! "And they are _always_ pastel coloured. You are not a springtime child, Amelie, but rather a creature of the night and should dress more appropriately."

Her eyes narrow at me but she doesn't stop laughing for another few moments to reprimand me. "Oliver, Oliver, Oliver," she repeats my name in a way that is patronising and condensing at the same time. "My clothes suit me, as you well know, although they are most likely dated for this time. Yet I am acceptable… you, on the other hand, are not. And as for being a vampire, that is true: I _am_ a vampire. Yet I was born in spring and it does not seem to bother humans that they dress the way they do, so why should it bother me to not be dressed in a black cloak and have appalling body odour – something, by the way, you ought to work on," she smiles sweetly at the end to try and disguise her blatant jab at me, but I do not react.

We have a love-hate relationship, like siblings, and it seems that she is taking on the 'pranking' in it at the moment… and exerting her power to be able to get me to do as she wants. Yay for me!

"Fine, your clothes suit you; what do you want from me?" I sigh, sitting back down even though she did not 'grant permission' – I need no permission from my 'sister'.

She smiles and stands up, heading towards the portal. My hopes raise, for she may be leaving without any action other than insulting my clothes, then nosedive when she beckons for me to follow her.

"We," she begins, a smile on her face. "Are going to go shopping for you to have some decent clothing, that I wouldn't mind you wearing in my presence," she continues. Of course, the smile on her face _had _to be brought about by shopping, possibly the _only_ thing on many women's minds – apparently even the eldest vampire in the world's also!

"We," I repeat her tone, a mocking smile on my face. "Are doing nothing of the sort – I have my own clothes, you have yours. _You do not need to dress me_," I stress the last part but she simply rolls her eyes and is suddenly holding me by the arm.

"You _will_ wear what I want you to wear," she stresses herself, her eyes boring into my own. "I cannot control you as far as what you wear here _yet_, for I have no inclination to spend my _entire_ day sorting your attire, but I _can_ ensure that when you are not working you at least resemble a human body," she continues, a smile spreading over her face as she looks towards the portal.

I stiffen as I realise the identity of the person standing there: my long time enemy, Myrnin.

"I got them all, Amelie," he grins and a waft of my stale scent hits me. My clothes… "I found two wardrobes, one with his disgusting hippie stuff which I left and one with all this grungy black stuff that I _burned_!" he looks positively gleeful but my temper rises.

"You _went in my house and burned my clothes_!" I absolutely yell at him, noticing Amelie wincing slightly but not caring because _she_ ordered this to happen.

She nods, as if I was addressing her, and then smiles once again. "If you had clothes left, you would refuse to wear the clothing that I am going to select for you. Therefore, this was the only option," she explains, pulling me by the arm towards the door, these being the last normal clothes I have… I could _kill_ them both.

We head through the portal, Myrnin laughing manically behind us, and I shudder as I prepare to… _shop_.

OoOoOo

"That looks rather fetching Oliver," Amelie purses her lips as she surveys my appearance with her head cocked to the side slightly. I grimace as I stand before her, dressed in _jeans_ (not even black but _blue_) and a polo shirt with a jumper over the top of it.

"I feel ridiculous, as if I am trying to be a young man today," I sigh, turning to look in the mirror. With slightly grey hair, although I was barely 30 when I was turned, I look stupid like this.

"Which you most certainly are _not_," Myrnin butts in – I thought he left – helpfully, in his opinion. "A young man, I mean," he clarifies his point for the benefit of Amelie and myself, though we comprehended perfectly.

Amelie turns to him with a slight smile and nods almost imperceptibly. "I agree, Myrnin, but you _also_ do not have a good enough determination of what is suitable to be able to pass judgement," she insults his fashion sense as well, which makes him revert back to being a child again. Of course… whenever you insult Myrnin, he instantly becomes childish once again… well, more of a child than normal.

"After that _utterly_ inappropriate and unnecessary comment, I am extremely hurt," he plays the melodramatic card showing just how authentic he would have been on stage if he were not science crazy… or even just crazy. "Therefore, I have decided that I am no longer wishing to be present at this entirely idiotic event and shall return to my lab to do something worth my while… I wonder whether or not I could test out the resistance a human skull has today on Claire," he muses slightly, making both Amelie and I turn to him in alarm. I may not like Claire, but I respect her and she _is_ a vital part of this town, everything since Bishop has shown that.

"I _sincerely_ hope you are jesting here, Myrnin, for if not I shall have to place you under my control," Amelie threatens. "And I remember _how_ much you enjoyed that last time… so if you do not wish to spend excessive time with Gérard, you may want to inform me now," she continues, as coolly as before.

Of course, the fool looks taken aback and laughs slightly, albeit nervously. "Of _course_ I was joking, Amelie: Claire isn't working today… or is she? Ahh, yes she is… I set her the mammoth task of moving the boxes across the room. I had better make sure that the contents haven't killed her or anything. _Au revoir, mes petites amies!"_ he calls as he leaves… wait, did he just call us…?

"Did he just call us his girlfriend and boyfriend, or is my native tongue becoming rusty with age?" Amelie asks and I laugh as I nod. "Good, I am not crazy then, like the two of you. Try the next outfit now please," she orders me: dammit! I had half hoped she had forgotten about my trying on of the _forty seventh_ outfit! Fifteen of them were relegated instantly, thirty I _have_ to have, and two she 'isn't decided' upon yet.

Fifteen minutes later, and she has decided that I have tried on enough outfits to be allowed to return to being a man rather than a woman obsessed with trying things on – as most people seem to be these days… I hate to say it, but even the men are.

"That's thirty four complete outfits – do you remember the combinations or do I have to make you a book for you to be able to manage?" she asks me in the same tone as earlier, which irritates me enough to confess that I paid attention.

"_Yes_, I remember, I am _not_ an idiotic child!" I exclaim angrily, making her face close down entirely and for her to revert back to 'Ice Queen' rather than the semi-normal person she has been for a few hours.

"Very well," she says as we reach the till, the cashier already ringing everything up. Then she walks away and towards the portal. "Do remember that you have to _pay_ for the things you want, Oliver. You don't deserve free things," and with that, she walks through and back to whatever she was doing before she had to come and annoy me.

"That will be $9,089, please sir," the cashier says as she hands me fourteen carrier bags.

_I am going to kill Amelie!_

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_Whatcha think?_

_Review please!_

_Vicky xx_


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